Train a Child
by Midorima Kazunari
Summary: Kōsuke and Kusanagi work on Eric's table manners.


_"Train a child in the way he shall go, and when he is old he will not turn from it."_ Proverbs 22:6

* * *

Kusanagi sends away all the usual agitators on a useless errand and Mikoto sleeps upstairs with Anna watching over him, so it's only the bartender, Kōsuke, and Eric in the bar; it's easier that way, as the skittish newbie doesn't do well around groups yet.

Kusanagi puts out three servings of food. Eric doesn't say anything, but snatches his portion off the bar and digs in immediately, using his hands to lift the food from the bowl. He turns slightly away, holding it close to his chest, guarding it, as he gulps it down in quick feral bites, then shovels the rice underneath into his mouth, hardly bothering to swallow. It's all gone before Kōsuke has even broken apart his chopsticks, but that doesn't stop him from continuing to teach the teen in front of him.

"Itadakimasu," Kōsuke says, holding his chopsticks between his hands, bowing his head quickly.

"Itadakimasu," Kusanagi echoes, as he begins to eat.

Kōsuke takes it slowly, placing a napkin on his lap - something he usually only does at home with his parents - trying to exemplify good table manners. He rubs the chopsticks together, rolling them between his hands. The cut on his palm burns, but he pretends it doesn't. Eric shouldn't feel guilty about the wound; it was done before the newbie joined HOMRA, and it was his choice to take the strike meant for Mikoto. He'd take the hit a thousand more times for his King, greatfully.

Neither Kusanagi nor Kōsuke explain what their doing to Eric, they just do it this first time to set an example. Kōsuke leaves his plate on the bar - another thing he rarely does, preferring to curl up on the couch with dinner and channel surf, or hang out by the pool table, watching Shōhei get his butt kicked by Bandō. Eric is worth the sacrifice of time and effort.

The boy stands as if toleave, now that the bowl has been thoroughly licked clean, but Kōsuke draws him back with a question. "So, what did you do today?"

Eric resumes his perch on the stool as if waiting for an opportunity to spring away. "Er, um…"

Kōsuke nods, smiling. He tries to be encouraging without seeming too overly familiar.

"No thing," Eric answers in broken Japanese.

"Nothing, huh?" Kōsuke gently corrects. "Well, you're lucky! I had three classes today: Geometry, Literature, and English.

"English?" Eric says, switching back to his mother's tongue.

"Yes," Kōsuke says, reverting the conversation back to Japanese. Kōsuke sucks at English; Eric doesn't realize how amazing it is to everyone in HOMRA that he is able to converse as well as he did so quickly, while at the same time, speaking English like a native. Even Yata is jealous. When Kōsuke had registered for new classes last week, he purposefully chose English so he could converse better with HOMRA's stray. "I know a little English already, like everyone who went to public school in Japan, but not enough to feel comfortable speaking it yet, not like Kusanagi.

"His English sounding funny," Eric stumbles over the words, blushing as he realizes how hypocritical he is to tease HOMRA's bartender when he does no better. Then in a quiet whispered afterthought, he adds, "Like my Japanese."

Kōsuke doesn't' know if Eric wants understanding, sympathy, or… if he's expecting contempt for the confession. "You're getting better everyday," he continues as if Eric hadn't spoken, "so, I figure I should do my best, too. Maybe you can help me practice."

Eric looks away, his face flushed, and stares at his dirty, ragged fingernails. "If my… can help…"

"Of course you can. You're already lots of help, isn't he, Kusanagi?"

"Sure, loads. He swept the backroom very well this morning. So, how'd you like the tempura, Eric?" he asks to change the subject and the pall of gloom over the conversation. The slight teen looks at the bowl and shrugs.

"If you don't like something, you need to speak up. I don't mind making different meals."

Eric shrugs again, but they can't interpret if he doesn't care or doesn't understand, but when the jittery boy's stomach growls, they get _that_ loud and clear.

"Would you like more?" Kōsuke asks.

Eric's eyes go wide, not in surprise, but in something akin to terror. He shakes his head and turns away, even as his stomach continues to complain.

Kōsuke looks at Kusanagi for support, but the bartender is as confused as he feels, throwing up his hands and shaking his head. Finally, he shrugs, takes Eric's empty bowl, and fills it once again. He pushes it over to the boy, who is now shaking hard enough to vibrate the whole bar.

"Go ahead; we have plenty," Kusanagi offers.

"Won't pay price," Eric snaps, shoving the bowl back at the bartender with enough force to tip it over the edge. Only Kusanagi's skilled reflexes save it from tumbling on the floor.

 _Price?_ Kōsuke mouths. The other man shakes his head. .

"What price?" Kusanagi asks. "This is HOMRA, not a convenience store."

"Liar," Eric hisses in English, then switches back to Japanese. "Everything has price."

"You ate the first one," Kusanagi points out.

"First taste is always free," he says, as if quoting something he's heard a thousand times. "That's how they get you."

Kōsuke's fists hit the bar, rattling the dishes. Eric leaps from the stool and scuttles under the end of the bar, wrapping his arms around his head.

"Get that temper under control, Kōsuke," Kusanagi warns. "You're scaring and confusing him."

"What they did to him… Can you imagine?"

Kusanagi sighs. "No, I can't, and neither can you. That's why you can't act like that. He doesn't know the difference between you being mad and you being mad _at him_."

Kōsuke takes a long, steadying breath then turns his stool to face Eric, whose arms have slowly returned to his side, but the hoodie is up, hiding his face beneath the too long blond bangs.

"I'm sorry, Eric. I'm not angry at you. We don't - will never - make you do _things,_ uncomfortable things to earn food. We help Kusanagi by washing dishes or sweeping up, but whatever you imagine is the price for the food… it isn't that. We are not _those_ people. We aren't Hikawa."

Eric flinches, but doesn't say anything.

"So come back to the bar and eat your fill, you earned this meal - all of it - by helping me clean the back room earlier," Kusanagi encourages. "And tomorrow, I'll teach you how to wash dishes."

Eric is all skinny awkward limbs as he unfolds from his hiding spot. He slides down to the end of the bar, but takes the bowl with him. Kusanagi lights a cigarette to get rid of some of the tension he's feeling, but he notices the fear returns to Eric's eyes and retires to the far end of the bar. Kōsuke gives him a look, but he doesn't need to say anything; the round burn marks visible on Eric's wrists and neck should be enough of a reminder that the boy fears the lit tip of a cigarette despite the fact that flames are HOMRA's ally and Eric's, too, now that he bares the crest on his shoulder.

Eric sits staring unbelieving at the food. Kusanagi fills up Kōsuke's bowl again and the redhead eats more, even though he isn't hungry. Eric's disbelief is so strong it might as well be the spicy sauce Kusanagi serves with the tempura. He looks at Kōsuke with furtive sideways glances and takes the unseparated chopsticks in his right hand. He leans forward onto his left, hiding his face, and the bowl, from view. Instead of using his hands, he stabs at the chunks of breaded chicken, spearing them before bringing them to his mouth. It's no less frantic than the gulping bites he took earlier, and it is far from civilized, but it is a start.


End file.
